Revenge in a Brown Paper Bag
by aliencatt
Summary: Sam has not gotten over the, 'red shorts incident', as he has termed it and Dean is in no way prepared for the payback...WINSEST...READ AT YOUR OWN RISK...follow up to, 'The Whistle Blower', but can be read as a complete story.


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

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**Dean/Sam**

**Season 5**

**Established relationship, **follow up to **'The Whistleblower'**

**READ AT YOUR OWN RISK-BDSM-Kink-Non-con/Rape-WINCEST**

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**Author's Notes:**

Be warned. I have gone further than ever before. Seriously, **READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**

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"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Take this and go into the bathroom," and Sam handed his brother a small packet.

Reaching out an arm, Dean took the proffered item and, glancing at it, swallowed then looked up at Sam, an almost plaintive expression on his face.

"I want to play," Sam told him, face serious belying the meaning of the word.

Reluctantly Dean turned and headed to the small room. He was tired and all he really wanted to do was get a drink or four and collapse back on the motel bed and then sleep until Christmas.

But Sammy wanted to 'play'. He looked in the mirror over the sink and saw the trepidation and excitement vying for dominance. With the smile winning out, he quickly got undressed and got on with the business of using the enema and then the shower.

Sam wandered around the room, running the black sateen ribbon through his hands. The lengths had been hidden in a brown paper bag under the back seat of the Impala for just under three months. It was a simple thought he had had, but he had kept the ribbon and lace hidden. Especially the lace. Dean was going to hate it.

But he had seen it on a rock video and it had appealed. Wide, black, thick, expensive lace used as a mask. It had been on an androgynous woman in the video and it had had its allure.

==000==

Sam had not thought that much more about the video image until he had spotted the craft store on the main street of that small mid western town and slipped off while Dean was engrossed in the Laundromat. Or rather the busty brunette using the machine next to theirs.

He had stood in front of the array of ribbons and braids and brocades and laces and fringes and felt really out of his depth. He was conscious enough without the matronly woman walking up to him to ask, "Can I help you, dear?"

"Erm…ah…I….um…" and he had stuttered into a pained silence. It was not as if he could ask, 'which is the best feeling ribbon on naked skin as I tie my brother up so I can fuck him?'

She had stood, continuing to smile with a pleasant helpful look on her face. "It's alright, dear," she assured him, "We get all kinds in here."

"All kinds?" embarrassed at the squeak in his voice.

"Of people, dear. Are you making a costume?" looking up at him yet making him feel as if he was under a microscope.

"Costume?" wanting the ground to swallow him or the woman to go away or to be able to think of a reasonable explanation for what he wanted or just…

"Yes, dear. School play is it? A little one needing a costume?" The man looked so embarrassed and out of place. She wanted to help him but the young, tall, man seemed to be getting more and more flustered as she gazed up at him. "Okay, I'll leave you to it. But if you want me, I'll be just over there," pointing to the counter in the centre of the store.

"Yeah. Thanks," Sam said with some relief.

Once she had gone, he went back to looking over the myriad of reels. His fingers slowly came up to run over the shinny plain ribbons. He picked a length of emerald green, rubbing it between fingers and thumb, liking the feel then moved to another, slightly differing shade, thinking it would be a match to his brother's eyes.

Blue, he liked blue. Then onto scarlet. More suited to purpose but slightly sluttish. He tilted his head, a slight smile turning up the corner of his mouth as he considered what he was doing. Golden. A distinct possibility. But then, drawn as if by inevitability, his fingers moved to 'fondle' the black glossy lengths.

Classic black. But then, should he have plain, satin, sateen or velvet? looking at the price list, wondering which was which.

Decision made, he turned to look for the woman. How did you do this? Call the assistant to the ribbon or take the reels to the desk? It was an entirely alien world in here. He could tell, not only by his feelings of ineptitude and slight panic, but by the looks, glances and plain curiosity of the other, entirely female, patrons of the store.

It was a smallish town, so he hazarded that very few men shopped in here. He seemed to be causing quite a stir, what with all the stares and whispering going on. He was used to being checked out but blushed as he heard a, not so hushed, conversation about his butt taking place between two women who were quite possibly grandmothers.

Picking up the reel, he moved to the counter then quickly, before he changed his mind, grabbed the second reel that had trapped his attention from the moment his eyes registered it.

Practically running from the store, stuffing the brown paper bag into his jacket's inside pocket, he made it back to the Laundromat and relative 'safety'.

Dean was still ensconced with the woman, now 'folding' her underwear. His brother had not even noticed he had gone. Sam did not know which he felt more, relief or anger. He just sat on the bench, decided to make his plans and basically, watch Dean's ass in those so tight jeans he was wearing. He knew that, no matter what, he was the one that was going to get that ass, not her.

==000==

Time stretched as Sam waited, pacing the, for once, bright motel room. Another reason he had picked today. The décor was clean and bright and the headboard had convenient gaps in the wooden design. He continued to run the ribbons through his hands gently. Damn, his brother was taking a long time.

Pacing in just his jeans, his anticipation was rising as well as his ardour as he heard the shower shut off. He had already stripped the bed leaving just the fresh white bottom sheet and both pillows. Pillows were useful.

Clean, dried and ready to be his brother's plaything, Dean wondered just what was in store for him this time. He had a pretty good idea that he would not be sitting down much tomorrow. When Sam liked to 'play', he liked to use his hands, and Sam had big hands.

Leaving the bathroom, he half expected to be confronted with a sight to make him wince. Sam, he knew, had still not forgiven him for the P.E outfit. But his brother was just stood, half turned to him in nothing but open jeans. Dean, wearing nothing, could not hide his instant reaction. The sight of that large body, waiting for him, was all the aphrodisiac he ever needed.

Then his attention was caught by several lengths of something black being pulled decisively through a hand. He held the smirk from his face. He could not remember the last time a week had gone by when one or other of them had managed not to get tied up. More often than not, not by each other. He refused to let the thought sober his mood.

Sam always appreciated this moment, when they both caught sight of each other. Both knew, if not exactly what, that they were in for a 'session'. Both were ready and eager, having prepared separately. On these, relatively rare occasions, it was a different type of 'sex' from when they crawled into bed together tired from a hunt or too much driving. Different from when they just got into bed together as the natural conclusion to the day. Different to when one would glance at the other and lust would flare.

These were the times for letting off steam. For letting go of the crap that followed them around. Letting go of the tension and trauma. These were the times when they were there for each other. To pander to each others kinks and kicks. Basically, a needed release and playtime.

He let his eyes drink in the sight of that beautiful body stood there naked for his perusal. Dean had cleaned, primped and primed. He could imagine him doing press ups against the wall, the room being too small to stretch out on the floor, pumping up his muscles, wanting to be at his best for his brother.

Sam stood still too, returning the favour. It had never been hard for Dean, confident in himself and his body. Sam had had to get used to it. To just stand so someone else, so his brother, could just, look. He let his hands fall to his sides, the ribbons trailing across his thigh.

Damn, but his baby brother had gone and gotten big. Looking at that chest, at those arms, Dean had a vision of Sam just striding forwards, picking him up and throwing him onto the bed. Throwing him onto the bed and just taking him. His head dropped slightly and he looked up from under his brows, eyes smouldering.

Whatever Dean was thinking, it was obviously turning him on. His stance, that look in his eyes as his face flushed slightly and his hand moved to grasp his prick. "No," Sam instructed, "no touching. You get to touch nothing. Come here," and lifted his hand to hold onto the nape of Dean's neck as he complied. The ribbon dangled onto his chest causing Dean to look down, then up at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

Sam ignored him and pulled his face in close. He went for those lips. He would never tire of kissing those lips, his hand surrounding the back of Dean's head as he kissed him hard. Crushing his mouth to the other, he forced the lips apart as his tongue invaded, controlling, consuming, taking all and giving no quarter until they were both breathless. Releasing him, gazing at the red plumped up and abused lips, he used the hand on Dean's head to guide him to the bed.

No words were uttered or needed, just pushes and rearrangements. Sam stood back looking at his brother sitting against the headboard, propped up on pillows, his body lying loosely down the centre of the king sized bed. In one swift movement, Sam was knelt straddled across Dean's waist. Dropping the length of black sateen ribbon to pool on his brother's chest, he picked up an end and tied it to the wood above and behind the blond head.

Staring into the curiously excited green gaze, his left hand felt for and picked up Dean's right wrist, bringing it in front of him. Pulling his fingers slowly along the length of ribbon now attached to the headboard, he wrapped it once then twice around the captured wrist then back up to the board. Saying nothing, continually glancing into that green gaze, he repeated the process with the other wrist. Sitting back he considered. Dean's hands were hanging from the top of the headboard like a marionette's, held on each side of his head in the looped ribbon.

Whenever they did this, bound each other, it had become a natural unwritten rule that it was never tight, never constricting. If Dean wanted to, he could easily untangle himself. It was about trust and willingness to yield, not enforced dominance.

Satisfied, Sam began to touch Dean, letting his fingertips run over his face, into the hair, circling the shell of his ear, his eyes intently watching the progress. Back to the cheekbone and onto those lips. He took his time pushing, probing, prodding, pulling and pinching the full soft willing lips, covering them in saliva as his fingers constantly delved inside running against teeth, stretching the mouth then back to pushing, rubbing and finally covering it.

Dean did not move. This was not the first time that Sam had treated him like this. At first he used to complain then learnt not to. He used to capture those fingers and lick and suck but that was not what his brother wanted. Not when he was like this. Dean was supposed to just lay back and let Sam play with him. He would be sore, marked and aching by the time his brother had finished with him and he would be glad.

Because, when Sam was in this frame of mind, nothing else mattered to him but Dean. He was his brother's whole world, his entire existence. He was his everything. Now, for Sammy, nothing existed beyond the confines of this bed. This bed with Dean at its centre.

A hand holding each side of the pliant face, Sam pushed against the lips one last time with his thumbs and looked into that burning gaze. Leaning to the side, he reached over for the bag and pulled out the dense heavy lace, appearing gothic in its antique style. Three inches wide, he had wondered how to tie it. So instead, he had cut it just long enough to appear as a mask and had attached more of the ribbon to the sides to work as ties. It was not as if he had not needed to learn to stitch things together long ago.

He held it up for his brother to see clearly and smirked at the expression. He had known he would hate it. He had tried it on himself and although not completely a blackout, Dean would only be able to see a distorted hazy version of the world through it. He placed it over his brother's eyes, knocking his head forwards as he tied the lengths securely at the back.

Resting back, sitting on Dean's belly, he smiled, satisfied. He liked it. Did not really know why or care, he just did. He knelt up putting his hands to his jeans waistband.

Dean could see almost nothing, just vague images. He was unsure whether that was better or worse than being totally blindfolded. But lace? Really! "Dude, come on! What're you thinking?"

Annoyed Sam replied, "There's a gag too! Got anything else to say?" and laughed lightly as there was no answer.

Continuing, Sam pushed down his jeans allowing his prick, which had been begging for release, freedom. Finally he allowed himself to think of those lips on him. He had it all planned out and had been dreaming about this since he had seen that haberdashers. That was before the whistle 'incident', but knowing the bag was there, he knew this to be a perfect revenge. But he needed to take the edge off before he blew it.

Leaning forwards on his knees, stretching over to hold onto the top of the headboard, he pressed the already leaking tip of his prick in past those open lips making Dean jump slightly. As Dean opened his mouth in surprise, Sam pushed his prick all the way in, going straight for the throat.

Dean quickly opened the invaded throat and his hands moved forwards to grip Sam's hips but came up short as the ribbon tightened around his wrists. Essentially helpless, he concentrated on not choking as Sam thrust into his mouth, fucking his face.

Looking down, the sight of Dean's mouth around his prick, taking him as he repeatedly thrust into him, was so fucking amazing. He slowed, hardly moving and Dean began to suck on him, constricting his throat, sucking in his cheeks as Sam slowly pulled back and then, that humming thing, as he pushed back into his throat, that Dean knew drove Sam mad. He actually laughed out loud in sheer enjoyment.

Dean closed his eyes. It was not as if he could see anything anyway. He heard the light laugh and redoubled his efforts. Sam's hips were speeding up again and he pulled on the unyielding straps wanting to get his hands on him. He was having trouble swallowing and could feel his spit and Sam's pre-cum escaping his mouth. He hated sloppy blowjobs but he was helpless under the renewed onslaught.

Sam, on the other hand, was eating up the sight. His head bowed, he watched with avid eyes as his prick was slavered as those stretched, glistening lips were 'abused'. He knew this would be over too soon, his need and passion not being able to hold back and feeling his balls draw up, he pulled back, slipping from Dean's mouth just as he shot, his cum spraying onto the parted mouth and across his cheek. The sight of the cum and spit covered lips beneath the lace mask had him shuddering, his prick spasming a final time, more cum dropping onto Dean's chin.

Dean swallowed, repeatedly licking his lips trying to clean up, to get the taste of Sam. But fingers grasped his jaw hard, squashing his cheeks together and forcing his lips apart.

Sam slowly edged backwards down Dean's body making sure his lax, moist prick followed in a line running along Dean's skin, leaving a slick trail. His brother's chest rose up into the contact but he continued, releasing the jaw as he backed off the bed. Dean sat up, pulling on the ribbons and tried to see him, angling his head this way and that.

Dropping his jeans down his hips and legs, Sam stepped out of them and climbed back over Dean to sit with his backside grazing his brother's attentive prick. He relaxed, letting his weight settle as he put fingers into the mess on his brother's face and, tilting his head, spread it around his mouth. Sitting back, the hard prick caught between his buttocks, he watched as Dean groaned, licking his lips once more and tried to push his hips up.

The lushness of the glistening juices on those swollen lips, the tongue slipping out of the open panting mouth. Sam bent forwards, easily reaching, as his tongue licked up over the tip of his brother's chin. Slowly, methodically, he cleaned Dean's skin, licking and sucking up all the mess, his own cum and his brother's saliva.

The action was causing Dean to squirm and buck up under him, his prick rubbing over Sam's asshole. He grinned as he pushed his tongue in to be met by Dean's. If Dean thought he was going to get to go 'there' tonight, he had another thing coming.

The face as clean as it was going to get, Sam began to kiss down his brother's neck which stretched for him. He nipped gently at that place he loved, softness under the corner of the jaw. Dean moaned again, saying his name softly. For that, he bit him, causing a hiss. He gentled over the spot, sucking lightly but Dean, being Dean, could not take the hint.

"Sammy, stop fucking teasing," he demanded, his prick trying to get friction against his brother's ass. He hissed louder as Sam sucked up the skin again, hard. 'There's the first mark,' he thought.

"You just can't keep from talking can you?" Not expecting an answer, Sam sat up again reaching for the paper bag. Pulling out the left over lace, he placed it over Dean's mouth and used the last length of ribbon to wrap around and tie it in place, forcing the lips apart and the four inch long piece of lace into his mouth.

Dean struggled as he did not realise what was happening at first, panicking slightly until the intension was clear. "I'l…..ucki….k.l…ou fo…is!" as he struggled against the gag, the restraints and the desire surging through his body. The slap to the side of his face was not much of a surprise. It was not as if it was the first time Sam had slapped him, or even unknown for himself to do the same to Sam, but the pressure of it shocked him. He said nothing else.

Sam carried on as if nothing had happened. He set to tasting Dean's skin, his neck, his shoulders, the inside of his elbows. All the time he kissed, licked and sucked, rubbing his arse lightly on Dean's prick causing the solid figure to twist, shudder and let out the occasional quiet whimper.

It was maddening. Sam's weight moving on his belly, the tantalising feeling on his prick as it was caught between the moving buttocks. He wanted to scream out his frustration at the continued caressing of mouth, teeth and fingers moving everywhere. Biting everywhere, probing, pinching up his skin. His body reared up as his left nipple was pinched and pulled taut as his right was savoured, suckled and bitten. His heals dug into the mattress, his knees bending as his legs restlessly kicked. This was torture and he just knew it was going to last. Sam had never tied him before for this. He chewed on the lace in his mouth trying to keep quiet.

Sam moved backwards, his teeth scraping a path down Dean's ribs as he repositioned himself between his brother's legs. More skin was revealed for his consideration. He licked, full tongued to Dean's stretched side then nipped with teeth down to his hip bone. Surrounding it with wide open mouth, he bit down, hardening the pressure in direct proportion to the groan issuing from Dean.

Moving across to the dark blond hairs on the quivering belly, his hands smoothed over the hips and down onto the buttocks. Grasping the plump flesh in his large hands, he knelt back and looking up the body, now patterned with his fading suck marks, he pulled, sliding Dean further down the bed.

Flat on his back now, arms held loosely over his head, Dean stared up through the distorting lace as he felt his thighs parted, his knees pushed wide. His breathing quickened. 'Come on, Sammy. Please,' begging in his head as he waited. Surely Sam would want to continue his tasting fest on his prick? His balls were picked up, a hand under them and then, what he thought was a thumb, rubbed, stretching the skin in a direct line down from his aching prick, just this side of painfully. His hips thrust up and he bit down on the gag at the continued torment.

Sam could not make out the words but heard his brother trying to talk through the gag. He smiled in amusement knowing Dean could not see. His brother would go through four stages before he was done with him. Angry and demanding, the 'fuck me, you bastard,' one. Followed by the, 'Come on , Sammy', cajoling phase. Then there would be the begging, 'Please, Sammy, ple..ease.' And finally, the wordless supplication of compliance.

It was the last one Sam longed for the most but got the least. The one when Dean lost near all sense or coherence. When he was reduced to pitiful whines and whimpers. When his body did his talking for him in the way it would shudder, flinch, squirm and finally, capitulate.

Right now, Dean was demanding he do something, no doubt about the prick standing so ready before his face. He blew gently across the moist slit and backed off as Dean bucked like he was on a rodeo bronco. His whole body strained up, muscles defined in his arms as he pulled on those thankfully strong ribbons. Sam pulled on the ball sack still in his hand.

"…astard!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere," laughed Sam as his hand left the balls and smoothed up, flat handed, crushing Dean's prick to his belly.

"Nuraumphhh!" Dean kicked out at the bed knowing he did not truly hate this, but it was driving him insane. It was Sammy's turn and Sammy liked to toy with him. But that did not mean he had to be cruel, damnit! His younger brother must have liked that, because he did it again. Then yet again as his other hand pulled down on his balls.

Sam smirked as he heard the barely contained, not quite scream, more a roar. Then tilting his head, he took his right hand from the prick and slapped Dean's left inner thigh, the noise of palm striking tender skin crisp and loud in the near silence of the room.

Dean bit down on the scream. Fuck, that had come sharp. The kind of sharpness that made him feel sickened. He lurched up to sitting, his bound hands folded over his shoulders. But still Sam was playing with his ball sack, now with gentle caressing fingers. He dropped back to the bed as the sting eased and the sharp sick tang left his stomach and throat.

Sam watched entranced as Dean's chest rose and fell with his shallow gasping breaths, his nostrils flaring as he desperately panted, not getting enough air through his mouth. The gag was far from suffocating and Dean was far from out of breath. This was reaction, arousal and anticipation. Dean said nothing, made no sound.

'Good', and Sam nodded approvingly, especially as he pulled on that ball sack, firmly but tenderly and Dean's legs did not move. They quivered with tenseness but did not kick, did not fight. He had taken the hint. He had learnt the lesson.

As reward, Sam quickly dipped down and kissed that smooth pale flatness that was Dean's belly, just to the left of the dark blond line of hair. His hand was once more flat on his brother's prick pushing it down, his middle finger idly caressing the sensitive hood. A very soft moan issued from his brother and his head rose up trying to see what Sam was doing.

Sam was in two minds. He wanted to be able to 'play' with his brother's body, as he had stated, without Dean making a noise or reacting. He had long been fascinated by his appearance. He was not considering his mind, his feelings or his personality now. Sam was fascinated by the colour, texture and taste of the skin. The way the gaps between the pectorals shaded. The way the hardness contrasted with softness.

How a mole felt against his tongue, how the skin would redden under his hands, his teeth. The marks his nails would make. The whiteness, then pinkness as he pinched up the skin. The compliance of flesh trapped in his hands as he pulled, twisted and manipulated.

All this he wanted to experience without the body moving, twisting or fighting him.

But also, Sam like to hear Dean scream.

Not in horror or anguish. Not screaming his name as Sam was in danger or hurt. No, Sam liked to hear Dean scream in response to him, to what he did to him. Sucking up the skin he had just kissed, he bit none to gently and smothered the pain rather than soothed it by sucking hard enough to bruise. The blood rushed to the surface.

Dean indeed roared through his lace gag but whether at that or the simultaneous action of the nail flicking at the hood of his prick, Sam did not know. He only just avoided the legs as they kicked, Dean's whole body struggling, fighting against what Sam was doing to it. But still Dean's hands remained in the ribbon restraints.

Kneeling back, Sam just watched.

If Dean could have seen his brother as more than a vague shadow through the black lace and tears blurring his eyes, he would have been shocked at the expression. Lust, plain and not so simple. Not just a lust born of passion and desire but also with a hint of anger and cruelty. He had witnessed it before, fleetingly and would have to admit, it did not disgust him. It frightened him a little. Had enflamed him a little. But it had never been so blatant before.

Dean Winchester knew his younger brother had a sadistic streak in him. Hell, did not everyone, himself included? But Sam had always held it in check. Dean knew that Sam was aware of just what he was capable of. He also knew that if he could satisfy his brother, if he could allow him this time, Sam would not become consumed by that darker craving.

Life would be so much simpler if Sam just wanted to fuck him, instead of wanting to fuck with him. But as the almost too much pain receded, any and all thoughts fled as his knees were pushed apart, down to the bed and those so big hands spread on his inner thighs. Stillness as if Sam was waiting for something, for him to relax possibly. Dean let his body go limp, difficult in the extreme as he felt himself trembling. The hands pushed down, fingers digging in and Dean was consumed with sensation as Sam swallowed his desperate prick, taking it straight into his throat.

Dean's sounds, his groans were exciting to Sam's ears, to his prick. He had hurt him already, he knew, and the sight of his brother's cock, swollen, angry, 'crying' from its eye had made him want to make up for it. By giving Dean some 'relief', some small relief in comparison to what he had planned.

Sam sucked and licked and constricted the hard muscle in his mouth. He was fast, furious and gave no quarter as he tasted the pre-cum, the sweat, Dean. Both the heels of his hands and his fingers dug into the flesh of Dean's thighs pinning him down, feeling the powerful muscles trying to push his hips up into his mouth. He somehow managed to smile as he continued to give Dean the most brutal mouth only blowjob he had ever had.

It was over so quick. Even if he had not been gagged, Dean would not have been able to make a coherent noise as he came, shooting deep into Sam's throat, a feeling so intense, ecstasy, remorse and pain all at once. He knew he was crying, sobbing and he did not care. He felt so weak and worn. He collapsed back to the bed still trembling.

Then he was on his stomach, his brother's strength once more used to get Dean just where Sam wanted him. He did not fight but it must have proved an effort as Dean was a dead weight, boneless, senseless.

Sam lay out on his brother. The heat of the insatiate body seemingly burning him, fuelling him. Leaning on forearms either side of Dean's torso, Sam moved himself up and down, dragging his own sweat soaked skin against the other. His prick rubbed between the succulent buttocks making him grit his teeth at the friction he tormented himself with. He was not ready yet. Dean was not ready yet.

He started his journey afresh, behind Dean's right ear. Suddenly deciding the gag was in the way, he let his weight lie as he reached up almost trembling fingers to undo the ribbon. Slowly untying the knot pulled tight by his brother's struggle against it, Sam peeled open the length of the black sateen. Dropping one end and pulling the other, he listened to the rasp as it slid along the lace, over Dean's, for once, clean shaven skin.

Dean barely managed to raise his face from the pillow allowing the movement before the edge slit across his skin. Oh, the relief, as Sam pealed the black fabric from between his parched lips. He could see nothing of his brother's face except a shadow but knew his eyes were wide, desperate. Sam was heavy and that slow movement was pushing the air from him. He tried to speak, knowing it was not what his brother wanted, but he was becoming panicked.

Sam shifted so his weight was lifted from his brother and now held high on taut arms. His prick still slid tantalisingly along that cleft and he watched Dean's face intently as his brother made a rasping hoarse sound. He was trying to speak and Sam's eyes squinted, his lips becoming tight but Dean just licked his lips. He guessed they must be dry, his mouth parched. The black brocade had been damp.

Dean grunted as Sam shifted his weight, moving to sit across his brother once more, this time kneeling straddled across the base of his spine. Reaching over to the nightstand, he picked up the beaker of water he had left ready and running his left hand into Dean's hair, careful not to dislodge the blindfold, and dragged his head to the side.

Water splashed into Dean's dry mouth. Cold, cool unbelievably welcome water. He licked out at it, his head straining against the hand holding him. Water dripped over his lips and his tongue quested for it. Then a drizzle over his cheek, his chin and once more his mouth. He knew his brother had better aim than that.

Sam watched the mouth, the lips, the tongue. And he had to kiss it, chase the glisten against Dean's reddened skin. The gag must have been tighter than he had intended. He twisted Dean's head more, forcing his shoulders to move, enough play in the restraints for the bent arms to give him room. Taking a mouthful of water, Sam ducked down placing his closed lips inside Dean's open mouth and slowly fed him the water.

His brother's mouth was an inferno and he quenched it, then set to explore with his tongue, lips and teeth, tasting, pushing, pulling, sucking, biting. He pulled back, letting his brother's head drop to the pillow, his gaze fixed on the swollen red, now bitten lips. Sam swallowed some water then taking a final mouthful, threw the beaker away as he spat the liquid out in a torrent onto Dean's face, neck and right shoulder. He was not showing competent. He was watching.

Enraptured he watched as the rivulets of water slid into Dean's gasping mouth, down into the crease formed between neck and arm. He watched as the moisture covered the right, unblemished, shoulder and, as Dean twitched, descended over the joint and into the curve of his armpit.

Sam's mouth followed, lapping at the water on his brother's cheek, his tongue pushing into the crease of neck. His mouth opened wide over the shoulder and, just as he had on the hip, his teeth sank in as he sucked up the skin. Dean jerked beneath him, a groan escaping his lips, an almost, but not quite, begging one. Sam pulled back managing to smile as his teeth dragged together, his canines welting the skin, leaving his mark. He detested the brand on Dean's other shoulder. He detested all it stood for. For all he had caused.

Dean pulled on the restraints, his hand grabbing for and grasping tight the lengths of his 'marionette strings' hanging from the headboard. He was really beginning to get worried now. They had been through this before, Sam using him as a plaything, but he had never been so harsh. That had hurt. He could stop this he knew. He was being stupid. He knew Sam would not truly hurt him. Nothing that would not fade in a couple of days. But each time this 'toying' had happened, his brother had taken it a step further.

Dean knew the routine by now. Sam planned, but he also had his kinks, his almost formula, that he was loath to deviate from. But the blindfold was new. And lace? Come on! The puppet strings, that was what it felt like to him, he was Sam's toy puppet, were also new. And the gag? He had not being lying, he might not actually kill his brother but he damn well was going to have plenty to say about it.

All this went through his head as he forced himself to remove his mind from the intense sudden pain on his shoulder. He succeeded until the sting subsided and he relaxed back down somewhat to the, thankfully plump, pillow. His mind then was taken to his backside as Sam wriggled down over his butt so once more that, not inconsiderable, prick of his brother's was nestled between his cheeks, moving as he felt Sam's tongue trail from the abused shoulder down the edge of skin.

Then Dean could not help but lift his arm, twisting at the waist with his head turning to 'look' as his brother's face was suddenly pushing into his armpit.

Sam had followed the moisture and suddenly found himself engulfed with the smell of his brother. That musk that was pure Dean. He had often been taken by the smell of his brother as he passed close, that mixture of the soap powder, shampoo and the toothpaste they used mixed together with deodorant, gun oil and leather. All this combined and then was mixed with the essence of Dean, not just his sweat but his very essence.

And here he was now consumed by that basic smell. Clean from the shower but wearing nothing but his own moist body, Dean smelt of, Dean. His sweat from their 'endeavour' was fresh and musky, unimpeded by spray and too new to be unappealing. Sam pulled back just enough to take in a deep breath, his eyes closing as he let it envelop him. If it smelt this good, what would he taste like?

This was definitely new. Dean could not see much, just a brunet blur but he could feel as Sam's nose pushed into the hairs and gave his armpit the attention he often lavished on his pubes. He sniffed, mauled and tasted, his lips, his tongues all licking, pulling at the hair as it soon became slavered in Sammy's saliva. Now Dean constantly twitched and jerked as the attention was ticklish on this skin so unused to 'adoration'. As his skin was nipped between those sharp white teeth he wondered resignedly how much of an irritation a love-bite there was going to be. He hissed in his breath sharply. He was going to find out.

Sam could not stop. This was a new and exciting area of Dean that he had never paid attention to before. Over the years he had licked, kissed and possibly bitten and sucked every inch of Dean's body. Or so he had thought. How could he have been so foolish, so blind to have avoided this?

He knew why but did not what to think about it. It was too close to the brand, to that thing, which he never touched during any of their lovemaking, fucking or play. But that was recent. What about before?

He could not stop. The texture of the hair, the so pale skin so different to any other on his brother's body. His tongue could not get enough. His hands almost unknowingly dug into his brother's sides as his hips quickened their lazy pushing, his prick cocooned in the confines of buttocks. His nails left half moons as his hips began to pump, the friction pushing him further as he mauled the skin, the underarm hair getting caught in his teeth.

Sam's left hand moved from Dean's side to grasp equally hard onto his upper arm, pulling it back sharply, giving his face yet more access. He opened his lips wide, trying to get as much of the area into this mouth as he could and he sucked, hearing a groaned sob from his brother and then he was cumming, shooting almost violently, still moving, spreading the spunk up and down, coating the cleft of Dean's buttocks.

The abused flesh of Dean's armpit smothered his almost scream.

Dean collapsed back down to the bed as he was released and he felt Sam get off him. The bed moved, then nothing, silence. He let himself relax, not thinking about the stinging bruise in his arm pit or the finger shaped ones he could already feel forming on his arm. He took a breath then lifted up onto forearms. Moving his head he tried unsuccessfully to see his brother.

Where the hell was he? He could not just be leaving him here like this surely? He was tired but there was no way he would be able to sleep now, not with this raging hard-on Sam had left him with and the moist feeling at his asshole. There should be more to come. Sam had that pattern, that routine. But it had changed.

"Sam?" he dared to ask quietly, half convinced he was not even there.

"Do you want the gag back in?" he was told with some anger and Dean dropped his head down knowing better than to answer.

Sam sat at the side of the bed staring at the glistening spunk spread on Dean's lower back and buttocks. He was so mad at himself. He had cum far too early. All his teasing and tasting had been for nothing. That anticipation that so heightened the sensation when he finally allowed himself to enter into the waiting recumbent body. When he would let go and lavish all his lust and frustration onto the pliant body of his brother.

Suddenly he twisted around, pulling Dean's left leg up over his own as he continued to sit with his feet on the floor to the side. Almost reverently he placed his right hand on the far buttock, just resting it there. He bent the leg on his lap opening up the view of Dean's arsehole and his left hand then mirroring his right, he squeezed hard causing the flesh to turn white under his fingertips.

Dean pushed his forehead against the pillow but was careful not to dislodge the lace. Sam would not like that. The hands began to kneed his buttocks pulling them this way and that, pinching up the skin, pulling them apart, stretching his asshole painfully, pushing them together and him down firmer onto the bed. He moaned trying to hold in a whimper. He was so hard and desperately wanted to cum.

He could not take anymore as his prick rubbed against the bed but not hard enough for release. "Sammy….Please….I…Sam…." but Sam did not force a hand under him to stroke at his desperate prick. He did not turn him so he could take him in his mouth. Nor did he push him against the bed to gain friction. Sam's hands left him.

A half smirk on his face, Sam stood throwing the leg off him. He climbed back onto the bed between Dean's legs and reaching over, retrieved the abandoned ribbon from the gag and swiftly wrapped it around Dean's face forcing it into his mouth once more tying it behind his head. It would not work as an effective gag if his brother insisted on speaking but the intention was clear.

Kneeling back, Sam just stared at the body before him. He took in the smooth skin, the freckles, the muscles twitching under his gaze as Dean lay there, no doubt wondering what was to happen now that Sam's routine had been diverted. He had been right, Dean had reached the begging, pleading stage. He slowly and carefully leant forwards to slide his left hand between his brother's legs along the bed to brush up against the prick, hot and heavy, into the palm of his hand.

Dean could not keep the whimper in this time, he so needed to cum, he was so close. Tantalisingly close. He knew he was shedding tears of frustration. He sobbed quietly knowing he should not speak, that if he did his brother would take his hand away and continue to torture him. He knew that was not his brother's intention but that was the result.

Sam did nothing more than curl his fingers around the shaft as Dean lifted himself then pressed down onto, into the grip. The sight of the reddened abused buttocks clenching, moving had Sam hardening again. He let Dean fuck into his hand once more, twice and on the third time he moved.

His hands grasped Dean's hips hard, pulling him back and up onto his knees, his arms stretching out pulling the ribbons tight. Sam swiftly pushed the head down through the arms then rising up, forced his eager prick in past Dean's ill prepared asshole and impaled himself to his length. His eyes closed and his head thrown back, he listened to his brother scream in pain and release as he came.

Dean did not know which hurt most, the violent thrust into his none lubricated arse or his orgasm. His mind could only deal with the pleasure pain, unable to contemplate yet, why he would cum to such a thing. He panted as he swore in his head, his eyes shedding tears soaking into the lace, his teeth clenching on the sateen in his mouth causing it to tighten and dig into his cheeks.

More pain at his wrists as his arms were stretched to their limits, the bonds pulled tight with no hope of escape if he wanted to end this. Those so large hands let go off his hips and he pulled forwards only to stop as it just made the prick inside him feel bigger as it moved within his still pulsing, contracting arse.

Nails raked his back from his prominent shoulder blades down to his buttocks which were once more grasped and pulled apart as Sam began to slide from him. He could not keep quiet now, each slight movement causing him to whine out in supplication and pain. He did not like this, did not want it. He wanted it to end, to tell his brother to fucking let him go, he had gone too far, way too far but he could hear his brother, hear the noises that he was making.

Sam knew he was almost matching Dean groan for groan, the only difference being there was no pain in his. His were pure bliss, pure enjoyment. The sensation around his prick, so hot, so damn fucking tight. He knew he should not have done this, he should not have taken Dean so unprepared but he could not deny how he felt around his prick now. How the scream had satisfied something deep inside of him that he was vaguely aware of but had never given a name to nevermind an outlet.

Moving slowly, he bit at his own lips at the friction against his prick. The heat was unbelievable, the feeling heightened he knew by the squirming as Dean was trying to pull away from him, his body shuddering, flinching beneath his hands. He slid those hands further up the taut sides as he snapped back into the surely painful passage.

He was careful, he did not want to hurt his brother badly, did not want to inflict damage. That was not his intention but he had to experience this now because, he was certain, Dean was never going to let him tie him again. Not after this.

And this was glorious. Every time he took that slow glide backwards almost leaving him, Dean let out a long low moan and each time he snapped forwards, Dean sobbed. He could not wait to taste those tears. His eyes snapped open. He looked down at his brother anxious that he not miss a thing.

The sight of his prick disappearing into Dean had always thrilled him right from that first time Dean had let him when they were teenagers. He had been so tall and lanky, his limbs seldom seeming to do as he wished, Dean slim and athletic, reluctantly giving in to a younger brother who would give him no peace.

Still it amazed him that his big brother would let him do this. He prayed he still would. In his mind it was Dean he prayed to. This time in his head was a mantra of, 'Fuck, so good, please, Dean, so fucking beautiful. Please don't make me stop. Never want to stop. So beautiful. So good.'

Dean did not understand. He did not understand why Sam was doing this, why he was hurting him so much. He did not understand why he was hard again and did not understand why part of his mind was yelling at Sam to do it harder. To really fuck him and make him scream again. He let the tears leak from his eyes and spill under the edge of the saturated fabric dripping to the bed. He concentrated on the moans Sam made and guessed he had his answer.

He could not continue. Sam speeded up his thrusts, each not as hard as the last but the glide on his prick was almost painful for him now too, as he fucked into Dean, fucking them both raw. He repositioned himself, sliding his body along Dean's, crowding over him, his face on the nape of his neck and he had to taste yet again, licking, sucking and biting at anything he could reach. His hands held firm to Dean's sides as he thrust in and pulled the gasping body back onto himself.

So close to cumming, he lifted his face and managed to capture the knot to Dean's 'gag' in his mouth. Pulling back with his teeth, he forced Dean to raise his head and held on tight as he plunged into the sore heat, one more forceful time and let himself cum, spilling his seed deep into his brother. He cried out as he came around his 'gag' and shuddered a further time then was still before releasing Dean completely and, sliding from him, knelt back on his heals breathing hard, head once more thrown back and his throat convulsing.

Dean collapsed to the bed, twisting himself into an almost foetal position and could think of nothing coherent as his body screamed all its complaints to him, not least from his now painfully throbbing prick.

Sam spread his knees giving his hot prick room to 'dangle' and cool. He swallowed and dropped his head, closing his eyes as he brought himself back to rest as his heart still pounded in his chest. His hands were lax on his thighs as his breathing returned to normal. He smiled. He felt good. His prick was sore but he could sleep for a week. He had that heavy satisfied well fucked feeling and now wanted to curl himself around his brother and sleep.

He opened his eyes and saw his brother.

His breath fled.

The vision before him was almost painful. His prick immediately swelled with blood as he looked at the curled, abused figure. Hands still in bonds, his arms were above his head resting on the pillow, his face turned away, just giving a glimpse of tearstained cheek and brocaded lace. His still body was a patchwork of bruises and bite marks, scratches and welts.

Sam let his right hand stroke up and down Dean's calf and shin idly as his eyes continued to wallow in the spectacle. The only response was a slight twitch at the first contact. Dean was conscious and aware and finally, completely pliant.

Sam's fingers lifted to hover just over the uppermost rounded buttock, itching to touch as his eyes were caught by the glisten of his own cum still moist in the cleft and slowly seeping from his brother's swollen arsehole. He ran a nail across the welts on the firm check and on down into the spunk, still warmed by Dean's flesh.

Slowly, enjoying the feel and sight, Sam ran his finger up and down the cleft, passing over and over the angry rim. He added a second finger, letting both rub up and down then loiter, circling around the opening. He twisted his head, his arm and decided he needed better access. He pushed on the hip with his left hand as he used his other to smooth down and get Dean to straighten out his legs.

Rolling onto his front, his hands hanging loosely by his head, Dean knew what Sam was going to do now. He was going to use those long fingers of his to 'play' with his asshole. He had thought him finished, had hoped he had. His arse was already sore but he just did not have the energy to even put up a token protest. It would be to no avail anyway.

Sam would be able to do anything he wanted to him, with him, now. He was just a being of sensation, unable to complain or respond. He had truly become what Sammy wanted him to be. A plaything with no will or mind of his own.

Slowly, gently, Sam used both hands to smooth over and push the buttocks apart as if unveiling a great treasure. He bent down and placed a kiss right on the puckered hole wanting to apologise possibly for what he was about to do.

Then he spent time smoothing his fingers over and around the entrance, massaging the cum into the skin, fascinated as the scant hairs appeared to glitter in the juices. Running down once more, he let his middle finger press into the hole, just slightly then pulling out, watching it close on itself then stretch as he pushed back in. He repeated the process, never tiring of watching this most intimate part of his brother which, to him, was beautiful too.

And the most beautiful aspect? Only he was ever allowed this, only he was ever allowed ingress.

He pushed his finger all the way inside causing Dean's hips to move ever so slightly. Taking his time, he slowly and methodically fucked the loosened passage with his finger. His other hand pulled the left buttock to the side, the tip of his index finger just dipping inside forcing the hole wider.

Dean could not keep still. He knew he was supposed to, knew he should not have the energy to move but still his thigh muscles clenched and relaxed, his hips and pelvis moving slightly. His weight lying on his still swollen prick was excruciating. He forced his lips together tightly, the ribbon cutting into the edges of his mouth as he stopped himself from making a noise, from breaking Sam's concentration. He knew he would suffer for it, more than he had already.

Twisting to the left, Sam ran his left hand up his brother's spine as with his right, he withdrew his finger and using the flat of his hand, went back to smoothing up and down the crack of Dean's butt, each pass becoming heavier.

Reaching over to the night stand for a second time, he retrieved the bottle of lube he had previously ignored. He would need it now, or more accurately, Dean would. Flipping the cap and holding it high, he let a thin stream fall onto the arsehole as his hand moved, spreading the liquid messily up as far as the hollow of Dean's back and letting it trickle down to the neglected balls.

Sam delighted in the tactile contact as his hand slid through the stuff, as he moved his hand to cover and play with the ball-sack now his attention was caught by it. He snapped the near empty bottle closed and let it fall to the bed. There was more movement beneath his hand and he heard a small whimper and hitch as his thumb pushed in behind the balls digging into the tender, so sensitive area. Kneeling higher, he pulled down on the sack, pressing in harder with his thumb as his other hand covered the side of Dean's face, turned to the left, down to the bed hard, his fingers pushing onto the lace at his temple.

Sam's thumb slipped into his mouth, the nail ripping his lip as it passed. The sharp sting of pain made Dean clamp his mouth shut on the digit and he bit down trapping it without breaking the skin and sucked as hard as he could. In response Sam tugged on his balls again as they drew up and then nursed them through yet another orgasm.

His mouth twisting in an almost 'demonic' smile, Sam watched Dean's body shudder. He withdrew his thumb from the lax mouth but pressed down harder on the face. Dean was gasping, his whole body spasming before once more becoming passive. Sam immediately went back to rubbing his hands over those perfect ass cheeks and continued to massage and kneed them hard.

Well slicked up now, he found it easy to push two fingers of his right hand into the still slightly clenching channel then sliding down from the top, he added the two from his left. Pushing in deep, biting his lip at Dean's anguished sob, he spread his fingers, forcing the asshole wider than before, wider than the girth of his prick.

Tears dampening the thick lace once more, Dean's hands fisted around the hanging ribbons as he tried to pull himself forwards, pull himself off the probing fingers. But still he did not put an end to this. He wanted it over but knew that Sam would not finish until he was stretched tight and incoherent. But still he was Sam's whole world and he knew just how much his brother got from this.

He also knew how he was going to make him apologise every morning for the next month, no, the next ten years, as Sam pushed another finger into him.

Sam was not going to stop now. The groans and gasps egging him on, he removed his left hand and moving to kneel either side of Dean's left leg, he slid his hand underneath him, wrapping around his brother's waist and with half his right hand still inside his brother, he pulled him up onto hands and knees. Cradling his waist, holding him firmly, Sam truly began to play in Dean's asshole.

Three fingers fucked in and out, repeatedly sliding, pushing a groove into the pliant side of his stretching rectum, a harsher version of what he knew his brother liked his prick to do. The same place over and over. The body in his arm began to buck and he changed to spreading his fingers wide, slowly pulling back, forcing back in, pushing down onto the tender skin.

Dean was practically snorting with the effort to let Sam continue, not to scream at him to leave him the fuck alone, to never fucking touch him again. But it would not last much longer. Sam would force his last finger in and work him, finding that spot inside until Dean was pumping one final time. Then he would let him go. Would let him sleep.

He could feel Sam's prick hard against his thigh, itself rubbing up and down on him. He could hear Sam's breaths becoming more and more erratic as he too climbed to a final orgasm. He just had to hold on, to clench his teeth and search past the pain to the pleasure. Because there was, there must be as his prick amazingly was hardening once more. Not to its usual heights but was making its arousal known none the less.

Dean's growl was tinged with a scream as Sam forced his fourth finger into join the rest, his fingers crowded then opening out inside as he searched for and, knew immediately, when he had hit that famous 'sweet spot' inside of his brother as that brother jerked and roared.

Sam reconfirmed his grip around his brother's waist, his fingers digging into the far side, as bunching his fingers he pulled back then, with some difficulty, added his thumb. Sure he was safely inside, he pushed up, tightening his grip on Dean's waist as his brother did not roar or scream. Dean keened.

Sam had wanted to do this for so long but had never had the courage. But as he already considered this his last chance, he went for it. Spreading his fingers in the hot constricts, he bent his fingers, slowly and carefully curling them up to cover his thumb forming a fist.

Dean did not immediately believe what was happening. Sam could not be doing this? His brother could not be fisting him? Sammy had such fucking huge hands. It would kill him. Already he felt as if his pelvis was splitting apart. He broke the rules, he had to, "Sam. Sammy. Please, stop. Don't, Sammy, please. It hurts. It fucking hurts," sobbing out around the tight ribbon, begging him not to do this.

Sam just pulled him up higher on his knees and slowly pushed his fist into him.

He could hear Dean pulling at the ribbons, making the headboard knock against the wall, but he pulled him tight. There was no way he was stopping now, no way he was going to let Dean stop him. The noises his brother was making were as exciting to him as the feel of that hot tightness giving under his knuckles, stretching contracting around his fist. He found it hard to restrain himself. To stop himself from pumping his wrist back and forth. Dean was already incoherently pleading with him to stop. He pushed in further and he watched wide eyed as his black bracelet stuck at the edge of Dean's rim, his wrist travelling further.

Dean wished he had the lace gag back in. He needed it to bite down on as his teeth felt close to shattering. Still he tried to get his wrists out of this surprisingly strong ribbon but there was no give and Sam kept pulling him back, tightening the bonds so once again they were cutting into his wrists. He would bear the marks of this for days, weeks.

Slowly, steadily, Sam pushed and pulled his fist inside his brother, his eyes flitting between the stretched hole, the lump moving under Dean's skin and his brother's head as he ceased fighting him and just let it rest there on his extended arms.

Sam pulled back then pushed in hard, twisting his wrist and Dean made a noise that would make Sam cum in his dreams for as long as he lived. Half strangled scream, half utter capitulation. And Sam did indeed cum, hard and violent against Dean's thigh. He held onto him tight, his fist pumping slightly as he pushed his jerking prick against the tense thigh, spurting repeatedly until he was utterly empty.

He then slowly relaxed his hold on his brother and his clenched fist inside of him. His head drooping, he unfurled his hand, still listening avidly to the pathetic whimpers escaping his brother's parted lips around the now ragged ribbon. Carefully, he extricated his hand and looking at Dean's face, as gently as he could, he lay him down on his side facing away from him.

Dean curled up again, his body trembling, sobs and choughs wracking his body. It was not so much the pain, though there was plenty of that, but the betrayal. He had been unable to release himself from the bindings and his brother had ignored his pleas. He did not know if he was resilient enough to come back from that. His body would heal, his mind would rationalise and accept but, what of his heart?

Sam lay down and took a few moments to recover, curled tightly to Dean's back, his face pushed into his brother's shoulder and neck as he lay with his hands still wrapped in black sateen, pulled close under his chin. It was not long until he sat up and looking at his brother's face saw once more the tracks of his tears.

Reluctantly leaving the bed, Sam moved off into the bathroom to wash his hands, his prick. Before he did, he had to have one final taste and raising his right hand he tentatively sniffed at the hand that had been so far inside his brother.

Surprisingly it was not unpleasant. His hand held the heavy musk scent he had noticed before when tongue fucking his brother. But this was richer, darker, more primal. Before it could have an effect on him, he turned on the faucet, washing the aroma from himself.

With hands scrubbed and a clean, but with his still aching prick, Sam returned to the bed and gazed down at his brother. His heart swelled at the love he felt for this abused man that was willing to let him take what he needed from him. Who would never, he prayed, turn him away. He never had before and Sam had done much worse to him over the years. He had abandoned him, had broken his heart and his spirit. He had even driven him into Hell itself.

Moving forwards, he retrieved the sheet and blanket he had folded to the floor and pulled then up to cover the still body of his lover. Finally switching off the room light, leaving just the bedside lamp on, he lifted the sheets and slipped into the bed facing Dean. He did not know if the surely exhausted man was looking at him but could sense his regard. Reaching forwards, he gently untied and removed the ribbon from his brother's mouth.

Dean was still awake as he licked his lips and Sam leant forwards to place his lips above and below the bottom, truly swollen, one. Kissing almost chastely, he moved across to kiss his right cheek, tasting the dried salt of his tears. Sam cleaned his brother's skin once more, licking off any trace of the tears he could reach as Dean refused to move, to raise his head.

Sam relaxed back, his own face a scant inch from his brother's on the pillow and stared into the green eyes he could just make out from behind the gaps in the heavy lace. He spoke for the first time in what had felt an eternity.

"Thankyou," and he smiled, feeling the lightest he had for months, his hands coming up to entwine his fingers in his brother's under his chin.

Dean knew then that all his threats and promises, made whilst Sam was in the bathroom, were for nought. Seeing his brother's face now, close and visible through the gaps in the weave, he knew he would allow him to do this again. He would never be able to deny him anything that made him look so at peace, so at ease with himself.

It did not mean that he was not going to make him pay for it though.

==000==

* * *

-==-end-==-


End file.
